texts that change the conscious parameters of literature, both for readers and writers. from a different angle than these, r.p. blackmur adds: 'poetry: [is] ...language so twisted and posed in a form that...it adds to the stock of available reality.' now that blogger has included the ability to reproduce fonts more accurately, alpha-numeric visual-poetry will be welcomed for consideration. formerly edited by peter ganick. send texts to Volodymyr Bilyk at ex.ex.lit@gmail.com for consideration...

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Cowboy
Ike paid his dues in cloud cover currency, flashing ink-stained wads of high
denomination bills wherever he went, oblivious to the tracking stares of
drooling lobotic eyes. “I’m just a screamin’ coyote on furlough from a human
transport junker, barely a stoned throw away from exile to population overrun
incarceration blowback locks!” he staggered freely, seemingly weeding out his
cares from any theoretical underpinnings of humming mental tinder brush.

Well,
nod too mangy a feeble critter or criterion seller or fellowship seeker ever
made it so smudge as within earshot of Ike, ladder load touched his fabled
cloak or cauterized his ninety tails of woe or feebly asked him to quench their
rabid vapid limpidly lugubrious curiosity of all things celebrated in this
glorious tundra of Dearth-bound fallen noxious cinder growth (whence known as
humanity).

At
this admittedly lung-winded and shim-wad obtuse elopement from even an extraterrestrial
fantail to albeit nebulous concavity (if not round-eyed pomposity), a camphor
lozenge maniac erupted from Ike’s blossoming booby-trapped shorts, bursting a
very fine zipper, poking a shamefully wasteful fiery head of orange hair,
greener than grassy hills of clover eyes, bespectacled bucolic beauty to be
sure, the finest maiden of this oar antsy udder seagoing vesicle (whoda ever
gussied up sedge a pulchritudinous specimen and menage-a-troika’d to package
her in wad ken only be culled a verily tidal comportment, parried well beneath
the hitherto zipped and spackled underpants of swan Cowboy Ike Cargo, whom some
wood cheesily misspeak as homeless or add lust homogenized or maybe even
somatically asexual).

fidget your signature with
dormant primroses
ramshackle claptraps are
keys to a thousand years

local sunburns, gift of the gab
fidget your signature with
nice people, fidget it
without civilization

fidget your signature,
nice people without civilization,
unsubdued as clues are unsubdued
awash in dew, in beastliness, alert to detonation
& the next thousand years, the letter,
the celebrated malice -- comrade! savagery
gives you its word, a few hours of deduction
amorous & badgered, its brain a
corner of propriety